


death is not a lover (oh yes he is)

by liNipote



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alberto Vicuña as Madrid/Zeus, F/M, First Meetings, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Hades!Berlín, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character(s), Minor Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Obsessive Behavior, Oracle!Sergio, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Persephone!Palermo, Possessive Behavior, Raquel as Demeter, Rating May Change, Secret Identity, Swearing, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liNipote/pseuds/liNipote
Summary: As the God of Death and Riches, Berlín always sought to have only the most beautiful things in his collection. So it was more than fitting for him to want the most beautiful of the gods as his bride and queen to complete that collection. Like a true thief, the God of Death leaves no trace as he steals away his chosen bride: Palermo, the God of Spring,Or a Berlermo Hades/Persephone AU no one asked, but secretly needed.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Denver | Daniel Ramos/Mónica Gaztambide, Palermo | Martín & Professor | Sergio Marquina, Palermo | Martín Berrote & Mónica Gaztambide, Raquel Murillo & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina, Rio | Aníbal Cortés/Tokyo | Silene Oliveira
Comments: 59
Kudos: 162





	1. death is and always will be a gentleman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viajeramyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/gifts), [jaiarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaiarts/gifts).



> So, I'm here to try my hand in this, since I couldn't get this AU out of my head. First full fanfic like, ever. I blame Jai and Myra. jaiarts and viajeramyra on Ao3 respectfully. Y'all have doomed me. Special thanks to viajeramyra for being my a wonderful Beta!
> 
> The title is from the novel The Road by Cormac McCarthy
> 
> More backstory/characters will be added in the later chapters! Hope you enjoy.

_The violation of Persephone_.

This is what many centuries of mortals would call the abduction of the young Goddess of Spring. The story of how she had been taken against her will by Hades, the God of Death and Riches, tricked by him to eat the six pomegranate seeds, which would bind her to his kingdom of death as his queen and consort for six months each year.

What they didn’t get quite right was the fact that Persephone was actually called Palermo, a god, instead of a goddess. The only son of Lisboa, the Goddess of Harvest and Madrid, the King of the Gods. Palermo, who actually went with the Lord of Death _willingly_.

\---

It didn't start like one of those cliché love stories one reads about when their lover leaves them for another. 

Palermo didn't receive any flowers or poems declaring undying love. No. The first sign of the Lord of Death showing him favor was a rather off-putting one: it started with the feeling he was being watched. 

The first time Berlín, the God of Death and Riches, decided to set his sights on the young God of Spring took place in the last few weeks before harvest. 

Palermo, after dutifully spending long hours following his mother around in the fields, watching and learning from her, snuck off to the meadows to meet with his companions: a flock made up of forest nymphs, naiads from nearby rivers and a few other deities, who often brought news and gossip from Olympos. 

He enjoyed their company, but despite having a circle of people he could even remotely call his friends, Palermo knew they were mostly there to be his guardians, to keep an eye on him for Lisboa. He often found himself feeling alone most of the time because of it. Not that Palermo would ever admit to anyone he was feeling lonely, he had his pride, and he was not a whiny youngling anymore. So, he simply tried his best to make himself comfortable in his relative freedom. 

The only time he got to truly break free from his spies was if Lady Fortuna chose to show him favour. When this rare occurrence took place, the young god knew he wouldn’t be alone for long. The fortune's favour often came to him in the golden form of Stockholm, who would come down from Olympus to visit him in his brooding, telling him all about some young demigod who had caught her fancy this time. 

Much like today: the Goddess of romantic love, family and independence came rushing across the meadow, her feet barely touching the vibrant grass, all the way to where he was lounging under a tree with a book held open in his lap. Her approach rose Palermo from his musings to inform him she had fallen in love with Denver, the God of Violence, out of all the possible choices she could've selected from. 

Palermo found it hilarious. Denver’s thirst for violence and war almost made Marsella, the God of War look like a harmless pup (but only when the god wasn’t out waging war, that was) compared to him. Yet, there couldn’t possibly be a way for Denver to learn something as complex as war strategy as he was driven by passion rather than logic. 

The God of Spring was still relieved Stockholm had finally thrown that graceless excuse of a mortal, Arturo, into the gutter. Arturo, who didn’t appreciate the fact he had a goddess for a lover, no matter how short their time together had been in the end, could rot in the Underworld for all he cared. Palermo even considered going to the God of Violence himself, and paying him a few coins in order to get rid of that rat. 

He had a feeling should Denver come to know of Arturo’s existence, he would do it for free. 

Palermo grinned at the thought, baring his teeth in the process and proceeded to tease her about finally upgrading to someone better only for his taunts to die down in his throat by a sudden feeling of heaviness on the back of his neck. He lifted his hand to touch the affected spot, but only found soft skin warmed by the sun. 

It quickly dawned on him: he was being watched. _Intensely_. As if he were prey waiting for its predator to jump. It made him shiver. 

Palermo was positive the heavy feeling he felt couldn't be caused by any of the satyrs usually found lurking around trying to catch nymphs bathing in nearby streams. It wasn't any lesser deity either, since his mother wouldn’t let either of them come anywhere near him. 

Stockholm noticed her friend’s silent unease. “Palermo, what is it?” When the younger deity didn’t answer. She gave him a worried look as she raised her chin in order to find the source of Palermo’s unease. In the end she came back empty handed. Strange. She snapped her manicured fingers in front of his face, finally snapping him out of the trance like state, the panicked look in his eyes shifting away like clouds after a storm. 

“Huh?” He asked, pushing away her hand. 

“You were zoning out. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, of course,” he assured her, standing up. “I think my mother has found out about me neglecting my duties again. I will talk to you later, yes?” With a not so smooth lie, the God of Spring was off like a hero out of the Underworld, leaving a confused Stockholm sitting in the grass as he disappeared among the trees, the heavy feeling fading more the farther away he got. 

He didn’t mention anything about the incident to his mother. How could he? If he told Lisboa even a word about it, she would know he had been slacking again and most of all, know someone had managed to come near him without her noticing. No, he wasn’t going to risk his mother’s wrath, for his sake and for the unknown visitor. 

\--- 

In the next few weeks before harvest, Palermo went about his duties as always (there wasn’t a way he could avoid them, really), but now he watched over his shoulder from time to time, as if waiting for the heaviness to come back. 

Usually, he liked to be right about certain things. When he told Stockholm Arturo would break her heart eventually, like petty mortals do, and turned out to be right all along, this was something he would rather have been wrong about. His curious nature demanded him to find out who had taken an interest in him, hoping they would somehow find their way back to him. He got his answer soon enough. 

The feeling, as he had predicted, came back not even a week later after it had first started. Not as strongly as it had the last time, but strong enough he couldn’t mistake what it was. It would come and go, mimicking the sun peaking through clouds: strong and warm in one moment, cool and absent the next.

What made this hiding voyeur so bold as to thread under Lisbon's watchful eye, following his every move? Palermo wasn't sure, but oh was he intrigued. Deep inside of himself, he couldn't help but feel a little flattered that someone, _something_ , would be brave enough to defy his mother in such a way just to catch mere glimpses of him. 

Sometimes if he was fast enough, Palermo would catch a glimpse of a silhouette or a shadow in the far corner of his eye. Even hear the last notes of a dark, distant laugh full of promises, causing him to shiver with what he dare not name. He felt afraid it might be something other than fear. 

\---

  
Palermo grew accustomed to the feeling after nothing jumped out of the bushes to maul him to death, as he had thought at first. He accepted his voyeur might simply just be another spy placed to watch him or even an overly curious mortal. His guess couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

A few days before his mother would take over his duties to bring harvest into the world, Palermo was in the meadows again, but this time he was picking flowers for Lisboa instead of slacking per usual. 

He had just bent down to add a few beautiful, vivid marigolds to his bouquet of flowers when he saw something in the corner of his eyes and glanced up. Towards the edge of the clearing, he found an unfamiliar deity standing a small distance away from him, dressed in a well tailored black suit with an opened black coat over it, his hands in the pockets of his pressed pants. 

He could have easily been mistaken for a mortal or a lesser deity if it wasn’t for his aura and looks. A pair of dark, solemn eyes seeming almost black, matched with a head of brown hair covered by a black brimmed hat to match the rest of him. He cut quite an imposing figure. Strong and powerful. Handsome. _Tempting_. No demigod or one of the more lesser gods he was familiar with had an aura like the one surrounding the deity, who had made his way over to him. The longer the other god stared at him, the more Palermo felt an urge to take a step back. 

Yet something inside of him told him to stay where he was. Even take a step towards the god, instead of turning away. 

He tilted his head to the side, curiosity winning over. “I don't think I have seen you before. My mother is in the fields, if you're looking for her, that is.” 

The other deity offered him a charming smile, his dark eyes reminding Palermo of black orchids his mother had in her gardens. They looked black even in the bright sunlight of late summer as they took him in. Palermo felt his skin itch under the weight of it. 

“You can call me Andrés.” Andrés. Palermo couldn't recall knowing anyone called Andrés. As his mind raced, trying to fit the name to the face, the other god suddenly lifted Palermo's unoccupied hand to his lips, pressing a phantom kiss against the golden skin of his knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving his. 

“Palermo.” He introduced himself in turn, feeling a wave of heat coat his cheeks at the other god’s boldness. He tried to blame it on the heat, comparable to a bad liar. 

His hand was released a moment after. The god, _Andrés_ , looked around the meadow before returning his eyes to him. “Who is your mother then, _Palermo_? I could just as easily be here for you.” 

A shiver ran down his spine at the way the other deity said his name: like a lingering caress. The look in Andrés’ eyes was knowing. Palermo straightened the flowers resting in the groove of his right arm, trying to hide the rosiness still painting his skin.  
  
“Lisboa, the Goddess of Harvest,” he said, adding hesitantly, “I’m heading to the fields. You can accompany me if you want?” The other god answered his invitation after a moment of silence with a short nod of his head and a hand signaling him to lead the way. With his invitation accepted, the young God of Spring fell into step with his new acquaintance as they made their way across the flower filled meadow. 

“So, what brings you here?” Palermo asked after a while of walking, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “You’re not one of my mother’s underlings. I would remember a face like yours.” Such dark, serious eyes with a pale, yet angular face framed with strong eyebrows. Palermo would have definitely remembered a face like Andrés’. 

"I’m not one of her little lambs, unfortunately. My sovereign is Berlín, the God of Death. I’m here on an errant." _A god from the Underworld then_ , Palermo thought. 

The pride coloring Andrés’ words, however, as he spoke about the God of the Dead was unmistakable. Palermo saw no reason for the other god not to feel proud. He was more than aware of who Berlín was, all thanks to his mother’s Oracle and his unofficial guardian, Sergio, who had him go through hours upon hours of learning everything about the other gods and their duties should he ever come to meet any of them personally. Although, he didn’t get to meet nearly as many as he would have liked since Lisboa was too protective of him. He was her only child, after all. 

“An errant? Does it include searching for suitable souls to occupy Berlín’s kingdom?” Palermo couldn’t help but tease. It wasn’t often he had someone to talk to aside from Stockholm, Sergio, a few of his friends and his mother, of course. Sergio would indulge him from time to time with a bit of teasing of his own when it suited him. His mother and Stockholm, when they weren’t busy, would go full on banter with him. _Perhaps Andrés would do the same?_ He thought. 

Andrés didn’t disappoint him, if the playful smirk dancing on his thin lips was anything to go by. "I'm searching for a companion of sorts. I think you would suit the Underworld rather well." 

"So like a dog? Doesn't the Underworld already have one of those?" 

Andrés scoffed at his remark, a barely-there smirk on his lips. At first Palermo thought he had finally managed to offend him until he noticed the smirk hadn’t disappeared. “Yes, indeed, but Cerberus doesn’t talk back often.” 

They neared the edge of the forest, and Palermo could see the first glimpses of fields filled with golden wheat through the line of trees. He turned towards his travel companion to bid farewell, he had manners, for one, but Andrés was faster. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice held a serious note to it, making Palermo pause. He frowned. 

“About what?” 

Andrés waved a hand to elaborate. “About the Underworld, I did say it would suit you.” 

The God of Spring rubbed a finger against his chin, weighting the offer the other deity gave him. “I don’t know. I could consider it, if you gave me a good enough reason,” he challenged, hand falling to rest on his hip. 

Andrés crossed his arms behind his back, leaning closer as if to tell him a secret. “Death could be the greatest opportunity of your life. Why waste such an opportunity?” 

"Yes, perhaps,” he answered, trying his best to contain the eagerness he felt out of his voice. He didn’t want to appear overly curious. Palermo steered away from the topic by quipping: “We could also take the opportunity to look at your outfit. It’s kinda depressing." Snapping a vibrant orange rose from the bouquet on his arm, he pinned the flower on Andrés' suit lapel, smoothing it down. "There," he said approvingly, head cocked to a side. "See? Much better." 

Andrés gave him a nod, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Palermo watched as the other god reached up a hand to barely brush the vivid orange petals with the tip of his thumb as if it would break under his touch. "Quite. This heat doesn't help." Andrés hummed, clicking his tongue."Thank you, Palermo." 

The God of Spring nodded, silently pleased by the comment. He noticed he was being stared at, as if Andrés was still searching for something. He raised an eyebrow, "What? Weather is not my speciality. You will have to consult Cairo if the warmth doesn't suit your wardrobe." His remark earned him an amused grin. 

“One doesn’t get much of Cairo’s light once they’re under the surface.” Andrés pointed out, turning to look at him with his dark, intent gaze. He took a hold of his hand once again to lay the second kiss of the day on the younger god’s knuckles, this one a tad more lingering than the previous one, a ‘blink and you will miss it’ kind of kiss. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Palermo, but I think I know my way from here.” A short nod of farewell, and Andrés turned to leave. 

Maybe it was Palermo’s mouth getting ahead of his brain, or the fact he tended to want to keep those who didn’t automatically treat me as if he was fragile or a child at arm’s length, which made him call out after the other god. 

“Andrés?”  
  
The deity in question looked over his shoulder. “What is it, Palermo?” 

He hesitated. “Will I see you again?” 

“Would you like to?” 

“Yes,” Palermo answered, meeting the other Andrés’ solemn gaze. Andrés brought his thumb to caress the rose pinned on his lapel, repeating his previous action. 

“Then you will.” With a snap of his fingers, Andrés vanished, leaving Palermo standing alone at the edge of the forest with his flowers. _He sure likes theatrics,_ he thought, looking at the spot Andrés had occupied only a moment ago before continuing his way to the fields, already seeing the silhouette of his mother in the distance. He would keep this meeting from her, for now. 

Unbeknownst to Palermo was after the God of Death arrived back to his domain, he ordered the rose to be dipped in gold, in order to forever preserve its perfect form.


	2. he was the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long wait, the second chapter is here. I think I went a bit overboard with this one. A special thanks to Myra for being such a wonderful beta and bearing through this chapter with me.
> 
> The reason I changed the original myth about the creation of the gods is because I wanted to avoid any possible hints of incest. Not in my fic, no sir! 
> 
> The cities in the beginning are for Poseidon and Rhea, the mother of the six olympians. Monterey is city in California and it's located near California's Central Coast. Iquitos in turn is a city in Peru near the Peruvian Amazon. 
> 
> The title of this chapter is from the book A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas

In the beginning of time Iquitos, the Mother Goddess of the Earth, found herself with a problem on her hands. She had created the skies, the deepest oceans and the world beneath her roots. Her creations, no matter how beautiful, were wild and untamed. The sky roared and spit out lightning to scare the mortals below, the oceans flooded the earth with salt water killing crops, and the world beneath her took away innocent souls too early.

It was chaos.

Iquitos decided her creations needed rulers to tame them. She created Berlín out of the soil and precious metals, giving him the Underworld to rule over. He became the God of Death and Riches. After Berlín, Iquitos molded Monterey from sea foam and salt water. The oceans would be his domain. Lastly, the Goddess of the Earth took thunder clouds and lightning from the sky to make her youngest son, Madrid, who would be the Lord of the Sky and the King of the Gods.

After her three sons, she made three daughters: Lisboa, the Goddess of Harvest; Paris, the Goddess of Childbirth and Marriage and Sevilla, The Goddess of the Heart. Out of all the rulers and children she created to balance the earth, Madrid’s offspring would be the ones responsible for creating the twelve Olympians and the source of their rule: the Mount Olympus.

\---

In most myths, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades were depicted as brothers who flipped a coin to decide which one of them would get which domain: the skies, the oceans and the Underworld. It is also thought that Hades was rather disappointed for having received the Underworld as his domain to rule.

Much like in the abduction of Persephone, another few critical pieces of information were missed.

Instead of Hades being the God of Death and Riches, he was called Berlín, who didn’t share Hades’ dislike for ruling the Underworld. Instead he thrived in it like a flower: punishing corrupted mortals as he saw fit, and making sure each got what they deserved. And having possession of the earth's precious metals didn’t hurt, either. It made him the wealthiest of all his ‘siblings’ with whom he didn’t share any actual blood. They all were siblings, yes, brothers and sisters, but only in name. Berlín, being the first created ‘son’ of Iquitos and made from the deepest of earths, made him her child more than any of her other children. When she had an affair with a mortal man, she gave birth to the only sibling he would share any blood with. That child was his younger half-brother, Sergio, a demigod and Lisboa’s devoted oracle. For a long time, he was the only one of any significance to the Lord of Death.

Despite being rather sickly in his early youth, his younger brother had a brilliant mind to rival any scholar his senior, and the gift of foresight, much like the High Priestess and Oracle of Cairo. As he grew, Sergio could see bits and pieces of the upcoming events, but never the whole picture, which remained a great source of frustration to his hermanito.

Sergio was always eager to learn more, drinking in information like water or wine, and angry when he didn’t have an answer to something. When he wasn’t buried beneath scrolls or performing rituals for his goddess, Sergio could be found sharing his knowledge with a few selected ‘students,’ taking them under his wing as wards. Whenever his brother took one of those students as a ward, it was a very special and rare occasion, which was the reason Berlín found himself standing outside of Lisboa’s temple, waiting for Sergio to arrive.

His brother had taken a ward, a very _special_ one: Lisboa’s only son, Palermo.

How had he come by this information? Well, he heard about it from Nairobi, his lieutenant and the Goddess of Witchcraft and Deception, who first heard it from Río, the official Messenger of the Gods, who in turn was supposed to inform him _eons_ ago that Madrid had had a son born to him by the Goddess of Harvest.

According to Nairobi, the God of Spring had been born when Lisboa had been attending to her gardens. While doing so, she had cut her finger on one of the sharp thorns of her bright roses. As the first drop of blood hit the fertile soil beneath her feet, the form of Palermo crawled out of the earth, his clothes covered in dirt and flower petals, his smile like the first sun rays of spring so bright that Palermo’s light put even the God of the Sun to shame.

One could say that his interest was _piqued_.

His thoughts were soon interrupted, however, by the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Andrés?” Berlín smiled. Only his little brother would use his ‘mortal’ name, he thought and turned around to face the Oracle.

“Hermanito,” Andrés said, pulling Sergio into a warm embrace, careful not to crush the scrolls the demigod was carrying with him. “Shall we?” Without waiting for an answer from his brother, Andrés led the way to the temple, walking up the stone steps and through white marble columns to the entrance, where Sergio caught up with him.

“I dismissed your priests for the day, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, noticing Sergio’s hesitance.

“No, it’s not that,” the demigod mused. “I’m just curious as to why you’re here? You usually inform me ahead of time when you plan on visiting.”

“Am I not allowed to visit my little brother just for the sake of visiting?” He chuckled, choosing to evade Sergio ́s question as he followed the Oracle inside the temple, lit candles going out as he passed them.

Sergio rolled his eyes at him.”Don’t play coy with me, Andrés, and stop spreading your aura around. It took me almost an hour to light all these.” Sergio spread his arm to gesture the candles displayed between the columns and around a grand marble statue depicting Lisboa, which stood in the middle of the temple with a large shallow pool in front of it filled with lillies. Sergio led him past the grand statue to the very back of the temple, opening a door hidden by a heavy curtain, to reveal a private study--or more of a classroom than a study.

The room was small, yet spacious. There were shelves lined along the walls filled with scrolls and leather bound books for Sergio’s lessons: most of the books originating from Andrés' vast library in the Underworld. A chalkboard, a few tables and chairs for students, and a kline to serve as both a couch and a bed placed in front of an unlit fireplace in the end of the room. There was also a dresser and two blusher chairs near the kline, facing each other by the fireplace.

There usually wasn’t anything personal, since his brother mostly used the room for teaching and preparing for rituals, which made him question the vase filled with fresh marigolds on the mantle. He wasn’t aware Sergio was seeing someone.

“Who has given you flowers?” Andrés asked while taking off his coat and hat, and placing them on one of the tables. Sergio looked up from the scrolls he had been putting away on one of the shelves and followed his gaze to the flower vase.

“Ah, those. Palermo gave them to me on our last lesson as a thank you, I guess,” Sergio explained, his eyes shining with fondness as he looked at the flowers. Andrés felt something comparable to envy blooming in his chest. The marigolds were vibrant orange and fiery red, looking almost gold.

The flowers in his domain were mostly dead, and if he or someone else were ever to take such beautiful flowers to the Underworld from the surface, they wouldn’t last even for a day. Nothing so beautiful had ever been made to last in such darkness.

“Will you tell me why you’re here now , Andrés?” His brother asked again, taking a seat on one of the blush chairs by the fireplace, gesturing the God of Death to do the same. Andrés gave Sergio a smirk, plucking out one of the marigolds from the vase. Not even a minute went by and the once lively flower was already slowly withering away in his grasp. _Such a pity_ , he thought bitterly, crushing the dead flower in his hand.

“I’m here because you have kept something, someone, from me, hermanito.” He took the seat offered just in time to see a flash of emotion in Sergio’s brown eyes. Andrés’ lips spread into a grin, _how interesting_. “I hear you took a ward.”

The Oracle shrugged his shoulders at his statement. “I take wards all the time, Andrés. You should know that,” Sergio said nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather. Andrés raised one dark eyebrow at his brother’s words, a hint of challenge gleaming in his inky eyes

“Then you wouldn't mind if I paid your newest student a visit, would you?”

He knew he had won when Sergio went rigid, eyes widening in panic for just a moment, before his brother got a hold of his emotions. Sergio’s mask had cracked, and Andrés smiled gleefully: he had caught the Oracle red handed in a lie.

“You wouldn’t dare, Andrés,” Sergio warned, his low voice and hands gripping the armrests tightly giving away his agitation towards the current situation. 

“Why wouldn't I?,” Andrés challenged, unfaced by his brother’s warnings. “Is it because he’s Lisboa’s son? Or because you took him as your ward despite him having a personal relation to you? _Tsk, tsk_ , hermanito. Breaking your own rules with this one.” He enjoyed how the demigod bristled at his teasing. He knew all that left his mouth was true, and Sergio knew it.

Still, it wasn't enough to prevent his brother from acting stubborn and refusing to admit defeat. “You have the largest library at your disposal, yet you’re very narrow minded, hermano.” Sergio bit back, holding his gaze. “I took Palermo as my ward not because of his relation to the Goddess of Harvest, but because he’s absolutely _brilliant._ ”

It was quite rare to take the God of Death by surprise, but Andrés couldn’t help feeling a bit taken aback by the sheer display of pride on his brother’s face. He wasn’t expecting that reaction.

“His mind is so complex that I find myself asking why his dominion is spring and fertility, and not war strategy or medicine. He surely has the potential for it!” Sergio said, exasperated. Andrés chuckled. His slowly rising intrigue towards Palermo was being stoked like a fire by the Oracle.

“We don’t get to choose our parents, let alone the domains we rule over,” The God of Death stated, drawing Sergio’s attention back to him. “He’s Lisboa’s son. So naturally he would adopt a dominion close to his mother.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully with his finger while Sergio rose from his seat to go over to a table by the corner of the room, pouring wine from a jug into two goblets before returning back to his seat, handing the other goblet to him.

“Gracias,” Andrés took a sip of wine, enjoying the pleasant sweetness of the liquid. After drowning down his cup, he looked at his brother earnestly.

“Now while I understand one of the reasons you took Palermo as your ward might be because of his mind, you can’t deny the bond you have for the diosa you worship has influenced your decision.” He held up a finger to stop the Oracle from interrupting him. “I would even dare to say your _affection_ for Lisboa has clouded your judgement.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about. And if I did, it would be none of your business,” Andrés could once again tell he had hit a nerve once a pinkish tint of color began to make its way on the Oracle’s cheeks.

“Oh come on, _por favor_. Of course it’s my business when my rule abiding brother throws caution to the wind!”, Andrés spread his arms, letting out a laugh. “Don't mistake me for a fool. I've seen the way you’ve looked at and spoken about Lisboa. This isn’t just a devoted worshipper worshipping their beloved idol. I don’t need to be the God of Love to see that.”

He kept his tone light hearted, a bit teasing, creating a false sense of security before he struck. Andrés leaned forward in his chair. "I'm sure you wouldn't want Madrid knowing about our little secret now would you, hermanito?"

A heavy silence landed between the two brothers, both of them refusing to give in until the Oracle of Lisboa was finally forced to admit his defeat.

“What do you want?” Sergio hissed through gritted teeth.  
  
Andrés grinned. “I’m glad you asked, little brother.”

It had already gotten dark by the time they stepped outside Lisboa’s temple. The only source of light was the torches lining the road which had been lit by Sergio’s priests and priestesses. Currently, they were making their way back to the temple for the evening prayers and offerings to their goddess. Six young men and women clad in long silk emerald green robes bowed their heads in respect as they passed him, quietly scurrying up the steps leading to their building of worship.

Once he was sure they were truly alone, Berlín turned to face Sergio. “Now will you be so kind as to tell me where I can find Palermo?” He noticed how Sergio’s hands balled into fists at his sides, clearly displeased by having had his personal feelings for the Goddess of Harvest used against him in such a way.

“ _Well_?” Berlín asked, irritation creeping into his otherwise calm manner.

The Oracle sighed, defeated. “He’s in the meadows. There’s a festival being held in Lisboa’s honor. You will find him there.” Berlín put back on his black brimmed hat and leather gloves, and with one last gratified smile towards his brother, the God of Death disappeared into the night. Some of the torches lit along the road blew out in his departure.

Sergio was left there to roll his eyes. _Dramatic asshole._

_\---_

It didn’t take the Lord of the Dead long to reach the meadows his brother had talked about, and being able to hear the sounds of commotion the closer he got didn’t hurt either. The festival was an annual one and was usually held in the last few weeks before harvest to ensure good crops for the year.

He had to admit it was a grand affair to be witnessed.

From where Berlín was standing between the trees, visible enough to see to the clearing, yet comfortably hidden by the shadows for no one to look twice in his direction, he could see deities belonging under Lisboa’s dominion dancing around a brightly lit pyre, the orange flames licking the night sky. The air smelled of burning wood and something sweet and aromatic, making him lick his lips as he breathed in deeply.

The deities celebrating the approaching harvest were dressed in white linen, wearing wreaths of flowers weaved from vivid marigolds of different colors on their heads, and masks to conceal the identity of the wearer.

He scowled in annoyance at that. Masks would make his task of finding Palermo among the mass of dancing bodies significantly harder than it already was. _My brother is really making me work for it_ , he thought. He crept closer, his dark eyes following the hypnotizing display of devotion dedicated to Lisboa by the mass of her underlings in their movements.

He let his gaze run over the devotees, glad in white, not really finding any of them interesting enough to pay attention to for longer than a few seconds, until he was suddenly hit by a wave of warmth like Marsella’s war-hammer. It made him stop in order to catch his breath at the sheer potency of it. The warmth pushed through the layers of his clothing, enveloping him completely.  
  
Warm, inviting and utterly intoxicating.

_Like the sun itself_ , Berlín thought.

He scanned the crowd of intoxicated deities, determined to find the source of that warmth. Just as he was about to go storming into the mass to wrench the owner of the scolding heath away, his inky eyes found what they had been feverishly searching for: a male deity dancing near the pyre, who shone like a beacon.

Berlín followed the deity with his gaze as if in a trance, taking him in. The godling wore white linen like the rest of Lisboa’s circle, but the wreath on his head had golden leaves like Cairo’s laurels weaved through the red roses and marigolds. He spun around, arms open and a wide smile on his lips, the light from the pyre catching on the mask he wore, made of brown leaves, feathers and dried flowers.

He stopped in the middle of a spin, stumbling a bit to take a breath when a female voice called out his name: _Palermo_. A smirk of victory made its way on Berlín’s lips. So this was Palermo, his brother’s precious ward.

The smiling deity raised his hands to lift the mask from his face, and as he did so, Palermo looked towards the treeline directly at _him_ , their eyes meeting for a few moments before he turned away in the direction of the voice.

“Palermo, _mi hijo_ , haven’t you had enough already?” The voice belonged to Lisboa, the Goddess of Harvest, her full-figure clad in a long silk dress the color of mustard seeds, with a slit going down her right thigh, showing off golden skin and the pair of brown knee-high sandals she wore. Her golden brown hair fell down in waves down her back. If Berlín hadn’t been paying so much attention to Lisboa’s son, he would have thought her as ravishing, a true goddess, and even been a little jealous at his brother for having such a vision to worship. But that wasn’t the case, not when he only saw Palermo.

Palermo, whose exposed sun kissed skin gleamed with sweat, his white linen shirt clinging to his upper torso. The heath from the burning pyre and consumption of wine painted Palermo's skin a beautiful pink color. Drunk on both wine and life. Smiling, _happy_. So much like the sun.

Lisboa held her son’s beaming face between her hands, matching his smile with an affectionate one of her own, running her thumbs over his flushed cheeks. He smelled of ambrosia wine and apple cider, as well as the sweet cardamom cakes served earlier at the feast. _Yes, definitely drunk_ , she thought.

“No at all, _mamá_ ,” Palermo insisted, even though his sapphire eyes were already turning hazy, his gaze unfocused. She shook her head, letting out a short laugh.

“Of course you haven’t, _mi dulce niño_ ,” Lisboa nodded, not believing a word her son said. She brushed a few strands of dark brown hair away from his forehead, and pressed a kiss on his sweaty skin. “Soon, you will fall into the pyre and we can’t have that. Take Ariadna with you when you go, she will escort you.”

Her son rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I don’t need an escort, I’m not a godling anymore.”

“I’m not saying you are, but you’re surely acting like one. And you’re also drunk. Take Ariadna and go. _Ahora_ , Palermo.”

Berlín watched as Palermo pulled himself away from Lisboa’s hold, huffing as he went to leave with a petite naiad with dark hair and lovely pale skin. The God of Spring was clearly frustrated by being sent to bed by his mother while others stayed to celebrate. Despite this, Palermo shone brighter than ever in his anger.

And Berlín wanted to _consume_ that light, that warmth. To have him for his own personal sun.

A dark smile crept over Berlín’s lips, a glint of madness gleaming in his inky eyes. He would _have hi_ _m,_ and not as a casual lover. He would have the young god for a consort, something he had never officially taken in all his life.

It was well known that he had only taken female deities as lovers, even as wives, but never had one of the male gender. He was capable of appreciating the male form, yes, but having a man as a long-term lover was an unfamiliar terrain for him. While he had watched and seen many deities and mortals that could be considered attractive according to many, he knew most of them wouldn’t simply submit or be content in the role of a Queen.  
  
Which was why next he wanted to see if the young God of Spring was more than a pretty face.

The God of Death spared a last lingering look towards Palermo’s retrieting form as the other god disappeared between the treeline with his companion, vanishing in a swirl of black smoke and an icy gust of wind.

He would be paying Palermo another visit _very_ soon.

That promised visit came about only days after Berlín had first set his eyes on Palermo during the festival held in Lisboa’s honor. He left his domain in the capable hands of Nairobi, leaving her to govern the kingdom of the Dead as he himself departed once more to the surface to see the god who would become his consort.

His first visit to Palermo was a very short one in many ways. Berlín hadn’t been careful enough in his approach, causing the God of Spring to sense he was being watched not long after Berlín’s arrival to the meadows. Palermo had been conversing with Stockholm, only to

stand up and leave abruptly. The God of Death lost sight of him once the godling had reached the treeline.

Berlín had cursed himself for being so careless, impatient, for not being in control enough to shield most of his aura around him. What if his carelessness drove Palermo away for good?

Luickly, he had found out that it wasn’t the case after returning a day later to find the godling back where he had left him in the flower filled meadow going about his duties as the God of Spring.

His second visit was thankfully more profitable. Berlín arrived at the edge of the wood that separated the dense forest from the lush open meadow still in full bloom even though the harvest was approaching fast. He didn’t have to look long to find the deity responsible: Palermo was laying on the luscious green grass surrounded by wildflowers, his light blue shirt open at the top to reveal a sliver of sun tanned skin.

Berlín licked his suddenly dry lips. _Una maravilla_ _,_ he thought, drinking in the sight of Palermo being so carefree, the light of his aura once again warming the God of Death, despite him choosing to stay in the shadows.

He quietly observed Palermo, who wasn’t the only one basking in the last warm rays of summer: Stockholm sat beside him, the golden curls of the Goddess of Love reminding Berlín of a Chimera’s mane: wild and untamed. He was too far away to hear what the two deities were talking about, but it was something that made the God of Spring laugh, his youthful face lighting up.

The sudden sound of a husky, leering laughter drew his attention away from Palermo and Stockholm to a stockily built young satyr, who was making his way towards the pair laying in the grass. Berlín grit his teeth in irritation at the disgusting display of cockiness and lack of manners. He felt anger starting to brew in the pit of his stomach at the way the satyr was eyeing Palermo as if the young god was a fresh piece of meat, and it made his fingers itch for a dagger which he would have loved to plunge south towards the satyrs’ balls.

He was happy to note Stockholm shared his distaste for the foul creature by answering the satyr’s profanities with sharp words of her own while Palermo stayed silent, his posture rigid.

Berlín found his wishes for a sharp object answered when the foolish creature made a move to touch the Goddess of Love, his grimy hand stretched to reach for Stockholm’s arm, only to have a knife pointed at his jugular vein.

_Palermo_ _._ Fast and agile as a feline. The satyr didn’t stand a chance.  
  


And he looked _glorious_ in his anger, the warm embers of his aura turning into a blaze in a matter of seconds. Palermo’s eyes were burning with violence and malevolence, giving Denver a run for his money. The color of his eyes was like blue fire: hot and destructive. _Perhaps his domain would gain another corrupted soul very soon_ , he thought gleefully. He would even go as far as to escort the satyr to Tartarus personally should he die.

Berlín grinned, amused at the utter shock and fear on the creature’s face when Palermo intercepted his intentions. The incident came to an end as suddenly as it had started when Lisboa’s underlings announced the arrival of their mistress. The mere mention of the Goddess of Harvest sent the satyr scrambling off towards the treeline as if the Furies were after him, his face ashen and red from shame at the same time. _Poor_ thing, he chuckled

With Lisboa’s arrival, Palermo’s knife had also disappeared from sight, no doubt comfortably hidden somewhere his mother couldn’t find it. He doubted Stockholm would rat out her friend who had just defended her from unwanted attention Palermo himself had also been the target of.

Berlín left the meadow for the Underworld feeling a surge of pride towards the young God of Spring for his display of defiance and fire. He would need that fire as the Consort of the Dead.

He continued his brief visits to Palermo in the following days. Some of those visits were longer and lasted for hours, while others were shorter and lasted only a handful of minutes. After all, he was the God of Death, he had his duties to fulfill, and even if he trusted Nairobi with his kingdom, Berlín couldn’t risk the possibility of Tokio planning a coup in his absence. He had been at odds with the Goddess of Strife, Chaos and Passion ever since he banned Río from entering his domain unless the Messenger of the Gods had official duties to carry out concerning the Underworld.

During one of his visits to the meadows he had been by only seeing the small circle of Palermo’s companions lounging beneath a tree, but no sign of the God of Spring. He frowned. It was unusual for the young god to leave his little circle behind. Was Palermo with his mother? He wasn’t certain, yet refusing to call the tight feeling in his chest something like concern.

Berlín didn’t have to search for long before finding the missing spring god in the forest near a stream, sitting with his back against a tree trunk. The sight seemed strangely ordinary if it wasn’t for the small herd of deer swarming around him, eager to get their fill of the small sweet treats Palermo fed them. Does with their small fawns licked the other god’s fingers to chase after the last crumbs, fighting each other for a place in Palermo’s lap while the bucks of the herd kept watch near them for any signs of danger.

Once the tempting treats the godling had on him ran out, Palermo still had his lap full with napping fawns. _Of course_ , Berlín thought. _One of Palermo’s symbols was deer_ _, no wonder they flocked around him without a hint of fear_. He recognized they weren’t going to move anytime soon.

The God of Death lingered a while longer, basking in the light of Palermo’s aura like a cat in the afternoon sun. He left for the Underworld not soon after, wanting to let Palermo have his rare moment of privacy. He would have to orchestrate an official meeting with the God of Spring if he wanted to have him for a consort.

\---

When the God of Death returned to his domain from one of his spontaneous visits, Nairobi could almost instantly tell something was off. She didn't know exactly what it was, but she knew something must have happened if the look in her sovereign's dark, solemn eyes was anything to go by.

Nairobi was familiar with the look the God of Death had in his eyes. She had borne witness to it time and time again during her immortal life: another lover, a future wife for him, and a potential queen for them. Nairobi had seen a total of five wives being paraded through the halls she and many others called home: only for her to be the one to escort them to gates for Río to take them back to surface. Some of them stayed longer than others did, but none of them ever wore the crown. Not officially, at least. _A shame, really_ , she thought. Perhaps they would get a minor deity this time instead of the typical naiads and dryads Berlín seemed to prefer.

Still, as she followed closely at the heels of her sovereign in order to report any happenings that might have taken place in his absence, she quickly realized that the look in Berlin's face was completely different to what the Goddess of Witchcraft was used to seeing. Berlin must have seen someone extraordinary to invoke such intensity and porpoise.

She had been Berlín’s most trusted lieutenant for centuries: it was almost a part of her job to notice these kinds of things. Most of the time those things would end up affecting the lives of Berlin's underlings, and therefore hers as well. Sometimes the effects were quite drastic, and it took time to recover from them. As the Goddess of witchcraft, women and deception, her dominion spread past the borders of the Underworld, which meant Nairobi didn't have that kind of time to throw around.

That might have been the reason why she decided to take it upon herself to keep note of the comings and goings of the Lord of the Dead. She took a special interest in the fact that Berlín, a god who rarely left his dominion, visited the surface more frequently than ever. Of course she was aware Berlin had a demigod brother on the surface, but those visits had always been executed with something aching to a routine almost, and always with a word sent ahead of time. His visits to the surface had been brief with a good amount of time between each visit when Berlín had courted his former lovers. Now he left the Underworld many times a week, leaving her temporarily in charge of his kingdom.

_What the fuck was going on?_

While she had been observant of her sovereign's doings, none were as knowledgeable in the flowing stems of gossip than her best friend, Helsinki. He was one of the three keepers of the Gates of the Underworld alongside Oslo and Manila. They were most commonly referred to as ‘the three heads of Cerberus’ for their status as the first thing most mortals saw before they would encounter the real Cerberus a little further in.

So naturally Helsinki heard most of the travelling gossip way ahead of anyone else, even Berlín himself. News from Olympus officially came through Río, but every once in a while a demigod or two would wander through their gates in search of glory or a dead lover they wanted to bring back. The result often depended on the mood their sovereign was in.

After giving her report and Berlín retiring into his chambers for the day (usually to indulge himself with wine and the pleasurable pastime of brooding), Nairobi left the walls of Berlín’s stronghold to visit Helsinki. _He must know something_ , she thought, _he has to_.

\---

Berlín dismissed Nairobi at the end of her report with a quick nod, watching as the Goddess of Witchcraft and Deception disappeared down the torch lit corridor, the gold of her many rings and the purple velvet of her plunging dress illuminated by the light. He could still hear the sound of her thigh high snakeskin heels echoing off of the stone walls even if he couldn’t no longer see her. He could always trust the goddess to get the job done. One of the many reasons she was his second in command since he currently lacked a queen to fill that role.

_Not for much longer,_ a voice in the back of his head crooned.

With a shadow of a smile gracing his lips, Berlín retired to his own personal chambers where a fireplace of blue embers had already been lit by servants having heard of their master’s return. He stopped by a side table with a tray of wine glasses and a crystal carafe filled with chilled pomegranate wine. He poured himself a glass from the carafe, and took a seat in one of the blood red velvet armchairs facing the blue flames.

Taking a sip of the semi-sweet wine, his thoughts were brought back to Palermo, who reminded him a bit of a puppy when he had spoken with the object of his new found interest. He was curious and playful, young still, in spirit at least, answering Berlín’s questions with near open eagerness.

If a mortal was to see them side by side, they would probably think that the two gods were roughly the same age based on outer appearance. How wrong they would have been. The young god always seemed to have had a strong desire to please, to impress those around him with either his looks or his quick wit. He had impressed Sergio enough for the demigod to take him as a ward, and what an impression Lisboa's precious son made on Berlín.

During their first meeting the God of Spring had spoken with him freely, his youthful face open like a book for him to read through and analyse as he pleased. He found it refreshing to talk with someone who wasn't constantly on guard around him. To him, being unable to read someone often meant they were hiding something from him, and it frustrated him more than anything.

Regardless of the playful and innocent air Palermo had swirling around him like pollen, Berlín could sense there was much more to the young God of Spring than he let on. An undisputed intelligence shone behind Palermo's sapphire blue eyes, Sergio having no doubt taught him well. There were also hints of darkness lurking underneath that facade of innocence, too. Palermo proved himself capable of being both benevolent towards those closest to him, and vengeful against those who harbored any ill intentions towards him or the people he considered his friends and family. An image of Palermo holding that cock-less satyr at knifepoint flashed in the back of his mind and he smiled fondly at the memory.

Palermo was the perfect example of balance, like the weights on a scale. A perfect combination.

If correctly stimulated, he thought, Palermo could grow to his true potential as the Queen of the Underworld. Besides, he had always liked challenges.

It seemed Palermo was a challenge even his brother couldn’t ignore. He knew his brother wouldn't take a student he didn't see anything special in, or someone who wouldn't like to be taught under a demigod. Palermo must be someone extraordinary then, he knew, remember his meeting with Sergio and how proud he sounded talking about his student and ward. The God of Spring held enough power to make Sergio break his own rules of not teaching someone who had a personal connection to him. That fact had captured Berlín’s intrigue, and the more he saw and heard of Palermo, the more that intrigue grew. His infatuation, if he could call it that, was almost like a fire when added more wood: it burned brighter. A pyre much like the one Palermo had danced around.

Palermo possessed something he could never have on his own. He burned brighter than any beacon or a funeral pyre, and the _warmth_ _._ The young god exuded heat comparable to the sun, his aura luring in anyone close enough to be taken by the mesmerizing dance. The wine in his glass couldn’t never bring him to such an intoxicated and delicious state of mind as Palermo did when he first saw him. He had unknowingly drawn the God of Death and Riches into his thrall, and Berlín was about to return the favor.

He was right when he thought the young God of Spring would make a fine consort, and now he had the confirmation to his predictions. Palermo would wear the crown of the Underworld on his head. He would be the Queen beside him.

The Lord of Death drowned the rest of his wine in one fast gulp, setting down the empty glass: he needed a change of attire. The occasion called for something red.

Berlín met Helsinki by the gates of his domain. He was yelling orders to a handful of underlings harnessing six pitch black stallions in front of his chariot, the giant having already heard the order to prepare it for his short journey.

Out of the corner of his eye, the God of the Underworld saw a glimpse of a familiar purple velvet. Nairobi. She had been quick, yet not quick enough for him not to notice. He could tell that by the time he returned, the whole kingdom would be aware of his intentions, not that Berlín really cared about what his subjects thought of him.

“Helsinki,” he called. “Are we finished?”

The minor deity nodded his head, tightening one last strap on the harness. “Yes, my lord. Is this for business or pleasure?”

Berlín grinned as he took the offered reins. “Pleasure,” he answered. “I have a queen to retrieve after all.”

  
  
\--

A few days had passed since his first meeting with a God from the Underworld calling himself Andrés; he lurked around in Palermo’s thoughts from time to time, regardless of being engrossed in his duties for the last couple of days. Harvest had arrived, leaving trees bare to color the ground with leaves of different colors. The air was chillier, but filled with the heady scent of ripe fruits: apples, peaches and grapes, used for either wine or jam, or both.

He knew he should be taking advantage of the increased freetime he currently held in his hands since his mother wouldn’t be expecting him to resume his duties until months from now. Still his willingness to learn and to be of use to his mother somehow, mostly to apologize for his earlier slackings.

Still, his thoughts turned to Andrés once more, entertaining the thought of seeing the other deity again now that his mother wouldn’t exactly question his absence at her side. She didn't even send as many spies after him as she did before. Yet here Palermo was helping his mother with the preparations instead of sneaking off somewhere after his lessons with Sergio, like he usually did unless his mother was expecting him.

That's how he had come to cross paths with Andrés in the first place: by first deciding to disobey and then make amends after getting caught. His disobedience had paid off rather well.

When they had parted ways, Palermo had quickly realized that Andrés hadn't given him a specific time or date when they would meet again. Palermo assumed he would be busy much like Lisboa was during harvest. He had to admit that he wasn’t exactly the most familiar with the specific duties Gods and Goddesses of the Underworld engaged in. The obstacle of Andrés’ responsibilities didn’t deter him from being hopeful, and a bit impatient like a child.  
  
 _Perhaps_ _I will see him at the festival?_ He mused, but quickly dismissed it as wishful thinking as he went about his day.

Palermo was done with his last task of the day by having organized the last grain crop bundles of this year’s harvest into large piles just before sundown, when the setting sun painted the sky in beautiful shades of orange, yellow and purple. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the sweat from the day of working and helping in the fields made his clothes stick to his sweaty skin.

The drying sweat made his skin itchy and feel clammy when touched. The smell wasn’t ideal, either. He felt disgusting, and decided he would need to clean up properly in order to be allowed to attend the Thesmophoria festival held yearly to honor his mother. Speaking of his mother: Palermo saw the Goddess of Harvest beckoning him to come to her with a wave her hand across the field, most likely wanting to send off him to bathe before the celebrations.  
  


His mother stood by three large open carts made of wood, each pulled by two young bulls. The carts were filled with weaved baskets full of different fruits and vegetables, all of them freshly picked by Lisboa’s loyal underlings. Palermo smiled softly at the sight: his mother was truly a divine goddess in every sense of the word. She wore a vivid, almost blinding emerald green silk dress that left her back and arms bare, widened a bit at the hem that was long enough to skim the grass. Her hair was piled up into a bun with wild flowers weaved through the stands of golden brown hair.

Palermo was right about Lisboa ushering him to take a bath as he walked up to her and saw how she looked at him up and down, taking in his current state: dirty, sweat soaked clothes and unclean hands covered in dirt. She didn’t scold him, aware that the nature of the work he did couldn’t spare him from getting dirty, only gave him a smile and shook her head.

“Mi hijo, go take a bath in the pools before the celebrations,” Lisboa said, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. “Ariadna has some clothes for you to change into once you’re done.” She nodded towards the young river naiad with dark hair and clear blue eyes holding a bundle of clothes in her arms. Palermo had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t even go to bathe without a shadow!

“Sí, mamá.” He grumbled under his breath, taking a red apple from one of the baskets and then setting off towards the edge of the field, Ariadna close behind him. Palermo knew he shouldn’t blame the nymph for following the orders of her mistress, but that didn’t mean he needed to speak with her. He simply wasn’t in the mood for chit chat, and it seemed Ariadna noticed too since their journey to the pools was spent in mutual silence.

When they reached the shallow pools, Palermo turned to face Ariadna. “I would like some privacy,” he took the bundle from the naiad’s hands. He saw her hesitate, no doubt wanting to do as her mistress told her. Loyal to a fault. “Go. I will call for you if I need you.” He insisted, getting more impatient by the minute. When the naiad still didn’t leave, Palermo sighed. “You can see if any of the satyrs are coming this way. I wouldn’t want them to catch me bathing.”

That seemed to finally satisfy the young naiad. Ariadna gave him a nod and a small smile before she was off disappearing between the trees, finally leaving him alone. Palermo placed the bundle on a smooth rock and began stripping off his soiled clothing. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as the fabric of his light blue shirt stuck to his heated skin. Throwing the shirt into a pile with the rest of his clothing, Palermo sighed in relief, enjoying how wonderful the cool autumn air felt on his skin.

The pool was a shallow one, only reaching up to his chest once he lowered himself into the clear blue water. Palermo used a piece of lavender soap found in the bundle of clothes to scrub his body clean from the day’s grime and sweat, and cupped water in his hands in order

to soak his hair. He washed his hair with the rest of the soap and rinsed beneath a small waterfall on the other side of the pool.

Once he was done, Palermo decided to not call Ariadna back just yet. He dressed in the clothing provided to him by his mother: an olive green linen shirt and soft brown trousers. After tying the laces of his boots, the God of Spring looked around for Ariadna, and snuck off to a small flower meadow once he didn’t see her. He wanted to relish his last moments of freedom before going back to his mother.

Being alone gave Palermo time to think, and it didn’t take long for his thoughts to turn to his hiding voyeur. He hadn’t felt the familiar, and somewhat comforting, feeling of heaviness in the back of his neck for a few days now. The God of Spring couldn’t stop the slowly creeping ache of disappointment blooming in his chest. Had he done something wrong to offend his secret admirer? Even if he still wasn’t sure who was the one keeping watch over him, he missed the safety, he missed being _wanted_ by someone, who wasn’t his mother or his friends.

Perhaps his voyeur had seen him with Andrés, and thought he was already being courted? Yet the way Andrés had looked at him, his dark gaze intent, _knowing_ , reminded him of his hidden companion.

His musings were interrupted when something unusual caught his eye. There, in the middle of meadow, was a wide hole dug deep into the ground, and out of it peaked a golden rose. Palermo narrowed his eyes. The rose glinted as the last rays of Cairo’s light hit its petals, as if tempting him to take a closer look. Once again the God of Spring cursed his curiosity and bent down next to the hole. The golden rose stood out of his reach, making him crouch down more in order to reach it with his outreached hand.

The moment he touched it, he realized the flower didn’t merely look golden, it was actually made of solid gold. Once he picked it up from the ground, he heard the sound of the ground rumbling ominously. The sound reminded him of a distant thunder, and as it drew closer, the sound of galloping horses became more distinct. A panic seized Palermo’s heart as the realization settled in: the sound was coming from underground.

The God of Spring stepped back just in time to avoid being sucked into the hole in the ground that split open in order to make way to the creature being spit out of the earth and onto the surface.

Palermo’s eyes went wide like the full moon once he got over the initial shock, and realized it wasn’t just some beast sent to terrorize his mother’s dominion. It was a silver chariot pulled by six pitch black stallions, their sharp neighs making him wince. What really made his heart jump into his throat was the figure holding the reins of those powerful steeds.

_Andrés_.

Time seemed to slow around Palermo when he met those familiar eyes, black like sleek onyx stones, and burning with such intensity it caused breath hitch in his throat; the all consuming presence of someone so powerful made him breathless and dizzy. He wanted to run, to bolt for cover like a young deerling after sensing a predator closing in, yet he couldn’t. His legs were heavy as if made from lead, refusing to obey the voice screaming at him to get away.

Run. _Run. Run!_

His tight grip on the golden rose caused one of its sharp thorns prick the soft skin of his palm, and snap him out of the trance he was in, but by that time the God of Spring knew it was too late. Palermo, who always took pride in having a quick wit, found himself falling short when an arm hoisted him up by his waist and into the chariot in a matter of mere precious seconds.

He was yanked against Andrés’ suit clad side, the sudden movement knocking the air out from his lungs, and filling his every sense with the overwhelming scent of brimstone and wet earth as the six stallions were steered back to return home from which they came from by their master.

It dawned on Palermo: they were going to the Underworld. Just as the horses kept whipping their heads to the side, hooves stomping the ground as they dashed towards the opening in the ground, the God of Spring tried to loosen the hold Andrés had on his waist to try and get away, but the other god held him in place with an iron like grip.

“ _Aguantar_ ,” Andrés warned just in time as the horses plunged into the earth, the ground closing behind them. The wind swallowed Palermo’s scream. He was getting tossed around from head to toe by the howling wind, forcing him to cease his weak struggling. He had to press closer to his captor and hold onto him for dear life if he wanted to avoid being thrown from the chariot.

Without fully realizing it, he buried his blushed face into the only available space between Andrés’ neck and shoulder to avoid sharp pieces of earth from hitting his face. His ears rang from the sound of thundering hooves hitting the earth and Andrés’ dark, almost manic laughter as they dwelled deeper and deeper into darkness towards the Underworld.

Palermo swallowed, a shiver running down his spine. _What have I gotten myself into?_

_  
_ \---  
  


It was already getting dark, and Alexandria, the Goddess of the Moon, was driving her chariot across the sky to bring forth the night, much like Cairo did in order to bring the morning everyday. Sergio was lighting the torches lining the road leading up to the hill to the temple dedicated to the Goddess of Harvest. He was so absorbed in his task he didn’t hear the object of his worship coming towards him until Lisboa cried out his name.

“ _Sergio!_ ”

The utter sorrow in Lisboa’s otherwise warm and gentle voice almost made him drop the match he was holding. He blew out the match just in time to catch the hysterical Goddess of Harvest in his arms before her sandal covered legs gave out from under her, making her collapse and lean heavily into him, the folds of her emerald green silk dress falling around her. It took him only a moment to realize Lisboa was trembling in his arms, violent sobs wrecking her body as she clinged to him like a lifeline in the middle of a storm.

“ _Mi diosa_?” He asked, alarmed at the state she was in. “What has happened? Please, tell me!” Sergio gently took her ashen face between his palms and saw Lisboa’s eyes were red and glassy from crying, tear tracks marking her flushed cheeks.

“Palermo!”, Lisboa choked out the name of her only son, her tearful brown eyes meeting his. “Mi hijo is _gone!_ I can’t find him anywhere. I left Ariadna with him, but once I came back to retrieve him for the celebrations, I found only her with no sign of him!”

Sergio froze, panic seizing painfully in his chest. He had seen his ward just this morning when the God of Spring had arrived for their lesson, eager as usual. Nothing had seemed a miss. He had even stood by the road to see his student off as the godling left for the fields.

The Oracle let out a shaky breath, refusing to look at Lisboa as he told her, “I haven’t seen him since our lesson earlier in the day.” Another whimper of anguish from his goddess.

“Ariadna found these by the pools,” Lisboa whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. She held a bundle of clothes tightly against her chest, the fabric bunched in her fists, making Lisboa’s knuckles turn white from the force. More tears fell from her cheeks which he quickly wiped away, loosening Lisboa’s hands to take them in his own. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, wanting to sooth her.

“Please mi diosa, tranquilo,” Sergio said, the tone of his voice not so confident. He lifted Lisboa’s chin with his finger. “I will consult the Fates, if you wish. They shall, they _will_ _,_ grant me enough sight to find Palermo and bring him home.” He would do everything in his power to bring Palermo back to his mother. He would not lose the student who was like a son to him, he would not.

Lisboa gave him a watery smile, touching his cheek with her trembling fingers. “Promise me, my most devoted. Promise you will.”

Sergio held her gaze. “I promise.”

The Goddess of Harvest brushed away the remaining tears with the back of her hand, her fingers suddenly biting into his skin, making him gasp.

“My underlings will be sent to every corner of Olympus and earth. Nothing shall grow until my son is back in my arms.” Her voice was cold like an icy wind and it made him shiver. She pressed a fleeting kiss on his forehead, gathered her skirts and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Sergio discarded the blown out match before rushing back inside the temple, heading straight to his study. As he prepared for the ritual needed to converse with the other plane and the Fates, he sent a quick prayer for anyone who might have had something to do with Palermo’s disappearance that they wouldn't have to face Lisboa’s wrath.


	3. the path to paradise begins in hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! After almost two months, the third chapter is here! A great big thanks to viajeramyra for being my beta and being so patient with me! I love you and I couldn't have even began writing this AU if it wasn't for you. 
> 
> For this chapter, I took inspiration from the inside of the Basillica from the movie Chronicles of Riddick when writing about Berlín's fortress. It's a great movie. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

As the silver chariot pulled by six magnificent steeds descended towards the gates of the Underworld carrying two gods responsible for opposite dominions, Berlín was hit by a realization, sudden and powerful like Madrid’s prized lightning bolts; he had succeeded, he finally had his chosen bride in his possession. Having the God of Spring clinging to him for support after ceasing his struggling made him grin, with a gleeful, near manic laughter joined by the sound of thundering hooves.

He may have gotten what he wanted, but making sure no one would discover his treachery in the long run was a different matter entirely. He couldn’t help thinking how Sergio would react. Would he rage at him? Call him a selfish bastard for stealing Palermo away like a savage and carrying him to his lair? He could already picture his brother storming down to his domain like a man possessed, demanding Berlín to return his ward once the word of Palermo’s whereabouts reached him.

It got him thinking; was he selfish for stealing his brother's unofficial charge from right under his nose? Perhaps. Some of the Gods would no doubt think so. Did he care? No, because when had death ever been fair. He reaped the souls of rich old men just the same as he did those of poor young women. In his eyes, everyone was equal when it came to death. The time for each soul to waltz with him came eventually. Should they accept their fate gratefully and follow his lead to which field their soul was assigned to according to their deeds, Berlín was more than inclined to make their trip as comfortable as possible with a little help from Río. The ones who kicked and screamed like petulant children? Berlín didn’t bestow such luxuries towards them.

In fact, he often found their meaningless wails for mercy rather amusing to listen to. He simply didn’t care enough to intervene unless they possessed something valuable to try and strike a bargain with him for their vulnerable souls. Seeing the hope light up their hollow eyes was a thing of beauty, much like the despair that replaced it soon after when he ripped it all away from them. He couldn’t be bothered with what the deceased mortals might have thought or wanted of him. Only souls had any value in his kingdom. But then again, if he didn’t bother to care about the approval of his ‘siblings ’or the opinions of the mortal souls he reaped, then why had the thought of lacking Madrid’s approval concerning his intentions towards Palermo kept giving him headaches?

Berlín was a proud traditionalist. He was as traditional as they came when the subject of the conversation was courting at least. He had courted his former lovers: some of them were easy and didn’t take long for him to whisk them away to the Underworld with him. Others liked the long game, and wanted to draw on the hunt before giving in. Berlín had enjoyed every last one of them. Looking down at Palermo, who’s hold on his suit jacket remained as tight as ever, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold wind as they neared his domain, he had long ago decided he

wanted to be traditional once again. He would court the God of Spring despite the current situation they found themselves in. After all, he had the rights to do so.

After having observed Palermo during his visits, Berlín had swallowed his pride and sent a request for a meeting with the King of the Gods. He would ask his brother's permission to court Palermo and eventually take him as his consort with Madrid’s blessing. He would have asked Lisboa, but he knew the Goddess of Harvest would rather have his head on a spike for all the trouble he loved to cause for her, than let her precious son be courted by him.

* * *

The answer to his request to speak with his ‘brother ’came through the gates of the Underworld the very same day he had sent it to be delivered to the King of the Gods by Río. After having caught the Messenger of the Gods lurking by Tokyo’s chambers, and swithly had him kicked out by Helsinki with a message shoved in Río’s hand. He would forgive Río’s insolence for now, for it had saved him the unnecessary time of sending his letter with one of his underlings.

He was summoned to Olympus with a letter signed by Madrid. The summon was official. He departed from the Underworld an hour later.

By the time the God of Death and Riches reached the Pantheon of Olympus, night had already arrived, brought by Alexandria, leaving the path to Madrid’s grand temple at the top lit by torches as well as the light from the smaller temples alongside the spiralling stone pathway. There was no moon or stars tonight, only dark clouds. It was a tell-tale sign of Madrid’s mood, but Berlín didn’t mind, because there would be wine and he knew he was going to need it.

The mostly empty streets lacked the usual bustling crowd of minor gods, young godlings and occasional demigods, who had come to visit their parents (or beg for a quest and sometimes even ambrosia for their little lovers). He wasn’t that frequent of a visitor at Olympus, but when he did, he would try to time his visits to go along with Alexandria and her moon chariot. Berlín had long since decided he would never get used to the sheer brightness of the place his many ‘siblings ’and their offspring called their home. The amount of light Madrid’s dominion had was the exact opposite to Berlín’s own vast kingdom beneath the earth, away from sunlight. In full daylight, Olympus could be described as a grand marvel with its beautiful temples and palaces, made of gold (provided by him, of course) and white marble. Yet, Berlín still preferred Madrid’s kingdom cloaked in the darkness of night rather than being blinded by Cairo’s light. The light irritated his eyes and he knew he would cut a more imposing figure if he was being seen under black and purple skies.

Once at the top, Berlin stepped into Madrid’s temple and its golden halls, where his arrival was met by a certain Goddess of Love at the entrance, Stockholm’s feather light steps came to an abrupt halt as she rounded a pillar. Her face showed no fear, even though Berlín could tell the goddess was naturally weary of him by the hesitating look flickering in her golden brown eyes.

Still, Stockholm greeted the God of the Underworld with a nod of acknowledgment, which he returned with a tipping of his hat (he was a gentleman, of course). She held his gaze, daring him to look lower at the plunging neckline of her dusty pink silk dress that hugged her every curve, swaying with Stockholm’s every movement like water.

He didn’t crack under the inspection, therefore passing her little test which earned him a polite smile from the Goddess of Love. She passed him with quick, silent strides despite wearing heeled boots; her wild mane of golden curls loose and bouncing with no sign of being tamed anytime soon. The only evidence left behind of Stockholm’s presence was the faint whiff of her flowery perfume and something fruity.

Berlín left the grand entrance hall soon after, following behind a servant that had no doubt been sent to fetch him and bring him to Madrid. It irked the God of the Underworld, but didn’t surprise him that Iquitos ’youngest child treated him as if Berlín was a mere demigod who had lost his path and needed someone to show him the way. He might spend the better part of the year in the Underworld tending to his domain, but he still knew his way around the halls of Olympus, no matter how sparse his visits. Yet it seemed that he would likely have to remind Madrid who was the oldest of Iquitos ’children.

Nevertheless, him having follow behind as the servant boy was the last of his worries as he was being lead through the golden temple. Along the way Berlín passed by thirteen marble high chairs placed in a semicircle (the one in the center meant for Madrid and his ego, naturally). No chair for him, not that he was surprised by that. Madrid always liked to pretend he was the oldest and strongest when he actually was the brat of the family. And if Berlín really wanted to, he could knock the God of the Skies off of his little pedestal should he wish to do so. Only time would tell.

He’s led past the throne room and through a high ceiling corridor to an open hall. His silent guide nods towards a balcony on the right side of the room before bowing and slipping back into the corridor. Taking off his black, fur-lined overcoat and brimmed hat, the God of Death pushes aside the sheer curtains at the entrance and steps onto the balcony overlooking the whole Olympus.

On the balcony, lounging on one of the two deep purple chaise lounges, is his youngest 'brother', Madrid, who rose from his seat to greet him by taking a hold of his wrist. Berlin returned the gesture by repeating the action before he took a seat in the lounge opposite to the King of the Gods.

They were separated by a low table piled high with delicacies such as fresh, ripe fruits of different kinds, cheeses and cold sweetmeats arranged on a separate plate with olives. Among them were a few of Berlin's own favourites: golden apples and ruby red pomegranates sliced in half to show the glimmering seeds. Because there was a table between them, it took Berlin a moment to notice the other deity was wearing a toga of all things.

 _Hasn't he heard of a suit?_ The God of Death thought absentmindedly, but then again, Berlín was the wealthier of the two gods.

“Berlín!” Madrid’s booming voice called his name, drawing him back from his internal thoughts concerning Madrid’s choices in clothing. “You arrived just in time. Here, have some wine,” The God of the Skies took a pitcher from a side table, pouring what Berlín assumed to be ambrosia wine and offered him the drink in a golden goblet, completely oblivious to the critical eyes observing him.

Now he wasn't one to circle around an important topic like a vulture, he had duties to fulfill and being stuck on Olympus only wasted his valuable time, which he would rather spend on tormenting ungrateful mortals. Placing his goblet of wine on a side table, he went straight to the reason for his rare visit.

"I wish to take your son as my consort," Berlín announced. The God of the Skies responded to his declaration by raising one dark eyebrow, his eyes failing to show any emotion as they filled with disbelief. In order to save face as the King of the Gods, Madrid covered his reaction by taking a sip from his golden goblet of wine.

“And which one of them are you planning on bestowing this honor of being your bride?" Berlín was willing to ignore Madrid’s badly disguised sarcasm in favour of doing business, but that didn’t mean he had to like it (which he didn’t, not one bit). "You do know I have many sons and I often lose count, them being scattered all over the world."

"Yes, I'm aware." Very aware in fact, since it was Madrid's own wife, who often sent the souls of those poor women she had caught her husband cheating with to him in the Underworld. Paris, no matter how regal and unbothered she seemed on the outside, Berlín’s dislike for her pathetic excuse for a husband was nothing compared to the loathing she herself felt for Madrid. She recented her husband not because he was unfaithful, but because every woman she caught him with was a threat to her power as queen. Berlín grinned; he had to admire the spiteful goddess for that.

Berlín brushed aside his ever present dislike towards the great oaf, and declared his desire with a victorious glint in his dark eyes: “If you must know, it’s Palermo, the God of Spring, who I want."

The reaction caused by naming Madrid's youngest son as the object of his unwavering intentions was one that Berlin would cherish forever; his 'brother' choked on the ambrosia wine he had been drinking, spilling crimson droplets of wine onto his white toga, staining the crisp white wool.

Berlin grinned once more as he watched Madrid slowly regain his bearings, looking at him as if he was the Hydra after having had his head cut off and then growing two more in its place. The now empty wine goblet bent in Madrid’s tight grip, no doubt imagining that it was Berlín’s

own windpipe he was crushing. Not that he would even get close enough to actually touch a hair out of his head.

Berlín might have not particularly cared about what Madrid thought about him wanting his son for a consort but even he knew that a blessed union held much more weight than one that went without it. Madrid’s blessing would protect both him and his intended consort to a certain extent, and most of all it would make Lisboa think twice before coming to break down the gates of his domain. He had his principles and he was sure his future bride would take note of his efforts when he eventually took it upon himself to fetch him.

A sharp intake of breath drew Berlin from his musings, his attention focused on the God of the Skies. Madrid was fuming.

“You,” Madrid choked out, “are in no place to make such demands to me on my son’s hand in marriage!” The King of the Gods roared, the ominous sound of a distant thunder splitting the sky open to show its ruler’s displeasure. Any other deity or mortal would have already scattered like mice at the first signs of Madrid’s fury, but Berlín merely rolled his eyes; to him Madrid only managed to look like a petulant child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

“Oh, but I do,” Berlín remarked none too gently, he was beginning to lose his patience. “Or have you forgotten that your son is of age and therefore eligible for marriage should any suitor show interest in him?” When Madrid remained silent, he couldn’t help but twitch the knife in the wound by adding: “Although, he’s more of Lisboa’s son, isn’t he not? Perhaps I should ask her.”

This time Madrid scoffed, most of his anger replaced by annoyance at his former lover being brought up in a conversation that clearly didn’t concern her. “You could, but we both know she would rather hang you by your balls than let you anywhere near Palermo.” Madrid pointed out, all too familiar with Lisboa’s protectiveness over her only child.

“She would,” Berlín hummed in response. “But we both also know that a blessed union could be the only thing preventing a war.” The silent threat hidden in his solemn voice had any effect on the King of the Gods, he didn’t show it, clearly having heard his fair share of threats directed towards him over the millenial.

Berlín's inky eyes followed Iquitos ’youngest child as the other god filled his empty goblet with wine from a golden pitcher, taking his time to set it down and swirl the sweet liquid before indulging himself. He acted as if he had all the time in the world while Berlín’s own patience kept steadily running more and more thin as the meeting dragged on.

Madrid finally set down his empty cup.

“Palermo is the God of Spring.“ The other god reminded him. “He’s a deity. Not one of those naive, pretty naiads and dryads you’ve previously entertained yourself with, even though he’s a minor one and a rather difficult one compared to my other children.”

Berlín pursed his lips, his eyes darkening at the indifferent tone Madrid used when he spoke about the young spring god like he hadn’t been ready to strangle the God of Death a few moments ago when the subject of him wanting Palermo as a consort was first brought up.

 _Hypocrite_ , Berlín thought. He would keep his many, colorful opinions about his ‘brother ’to himself for the time being. Madrid could be as fickle as the moon when it came to temper, and Berlín preferred to keep his new suit of black velvet creaseless and intact. As he busied himself with smoothing down the luxurious material with his hands, Madrid called for his attention.

“I have the final say in this matter. He’s still my son.”

Berlín nodded curtly. “Of course he is,” the God of Death assured, trying to keep the bored tone out of his voice. “Yet, it’s the throne beside mine that is vacant and you’re simply blocking the door. I could always try my luck and throw you off this mountain like I did when we were still young and mother wasn’t looking. Your fall caused an earthquake that split the ground open if I remember correctly.” He tapped his chin out of habit as though he was considering the odds of how long it would take Madrid to hit the ground, before grinning sharply. “Lady Fortuna favors those who are brave.”

“Should you somehow miraculously get past Lisboa and reach Palermo without her noticing your deceit, my blessing for your union is yours. Now would you please stop meddling with the temperature? It doesn’t need to match with your cold, dead heart.”

Berlín laughed openly, his head thrown back as he teased: “You say the nicest things. No wonder Paris is over the moon for you.”

His remark towards the disaster that is Madrid's marriage to Paris was the final thing that broke Madrid's infamous temper. The God of Death disappeared in a swirl of black smoke just in time before a goblet full of wine was launched towards the lounger Berlin had occupied just a moment ago.

Madrid’s fury could be heard all the way to the Underworld, but it didn't matter because Berlin had what he wanted: the blessing for his intentions towards Palermo. All he had to do now was to go and fetch his consort to be.

* * *

Face hidden in the groove of his captor's neck for protection against the howling wind and flying earth matter, Palermo could feel how Andrés' arm tightened around his waist almost painfully, drawing him impossibly close to his side as the stallions pulling the chariot finally reached the gates of the Underworld. They raced through the open gates and into Berlín's kingdom, their hooves clawing the black stone below before finally coming to a screeching halt.

Paralyzed by the turn of events and the not so smooth journey down into the earth, it doesn't register to Palermo until his feet touch the ground that he had been hoisted off of the chariot by Andrés with his arms around his hips as if he was a blushing maiden and not a victim of a kidnapping. Once steady on his feet and the ability to breathe once more returned to him, the God of Spring wretched himself free from Andrés' embrace, pulling away so suddenly he almost lost his footing if it wasn't for the other deity's hand reaching for his elbow. Andrés, Palermo realized, the impeccably dressed, charming Andrés he had met on a sunny day in the flower filled meadow, was his abductor. The word tasted wrong and bitter on his tongue and made his throat tighten uncomfortably as the panic clawing at his airways gave way for brewing anger.

Shrugging off the hand still on his elbow, Palermo took several steps away from the chariot and Andrés, who was responsible for all of it. Except that he wasn't Andrés. No. The deity standing before Palermo dressed in crimson red bright enough to be mistaken for freshly drawn blood of a fallen warrior and wearing a pleased smile on his lips, wasn't Andrés at all. He was Berlín, the God of Death and Riches and the ruler of the domain the God of Spring found himself having been dragged into. Literally.

In addition to being his abductor, Berlín was also the one who had lied straight to his face without batting an eye. Shame fell upon Palermo in waves. How couldn’t he not know that there had to be something suspicious about the stranger wearing a fur-lined coat in the late summer!? Desperate to get rid of the nauseating feeling in the bit of his stomach, Palermo pointed an accusing finger towards the now grinning God of Death and hurled out the first thing that came into his mind.

“What the fuck is this?!” The God of Spring screeched, his frenzied outburst already having attracted small groups of curious underlings from their assigned posts near what he assumed was a stable of some kind. Among the onlookers was a pair of hulking men, one stoic, clearly uninterested in the spectacle playing in front of him. The other standing beside him wore no such hostility, he had a kind face that observed the God of Spring with open curiosity.

Berlín, however, had the absolute nerve to look amused by Palermo’s hysterics as if Berlín hadn’t just driven his chariot up to the surface and snatched him right out of his home like a godling out of the cradle.

"You did say you wanted to see me again." That familiar, dark and slightly raspy voice pointed out, effortlessly using Palermo’s own words against him, which only managed to agitate the young god further. He had heard of Berlín, heard of his ego, mostly. Sergio couldn't exactly leave the first of all gods out of his lessons, but he should have at least told Palermo what to expect. Right now all he could see was arrogance and self-assurance coming from Berlín in waves. He was like an overgrown cat when given cream: obnoxiously pleased with himself.

That hijo de puta wasn't even looking at him! Only nodding along with what Palermo had just said while his attention was drawn towards the horses and an underling hovering nearby, who he was handing off the reins to. Gritting his teeth, Palermo charged straight at Berlín. He took Berlín by the shoulder, wrinkling the expensive velvet in his fist, and swung the deity around to face him. Palermo didn’t stop to relish the surprised look in Berlín’s dark eyes. He was done being ignored. “You lied to me. you bastard!” Palermo sneered, poking Berlín’s chest with his finger. “And not only did you lie to me, you abducted me as well without even telling me why!”

"I never lied to you,” Berlín cut in, now looking straight at him. His dark eyes were suddenly serious, all the previous traces of amusement gone in a blink of an eye. He brushed down his suit with his hand. “Everything I told you was true, even my name. Would you have changed your mind if I had told you who I really was?"

"Yes!" Palermo exclaimed, spreading out his arms in frustration. Of course he would have said no, or at least been more considerate with his words if he had known there would be consequences.

Berlín shook his head and chuckled lightly at his reaction. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but deep down you knew who I was. I saw it in those beautiful eyes of yours and still you said yes." Palermo refused to acknowledge the compliment hidden in Berlín’s words, though he could feel his body betraying him by setting his face aflame. He stubbornly blamed it on the wind as well as the frustration he felt for allowing himself to get captured like an animal.

Palermo crossed his arms over his chest, completely oblivious at his own disheveled state of dress. “You still haven’t told me why you kidnapped me.” The god before him grinned at his words, showing two rows of pearly white teeth. Mirroring the actions of their first meeting in the meadows, Berlín lifted up his left hand and pressed a lingering kiss against the back of it. Palermo went to pull away his hand, but Berlín had already let go of it.

“I wouldn’t have taken such drastic actions, but you have seduced me, son of spring.” Berlín revealed, taking a step back.

Palermo blinked. He did _what_ now?

“ _Qué?_ You can’t be serious,” he uttered, confusion and disbelief coloring his tone of voice instead of the anger he had felt only moments ago. _Has he lost his mind?_ Palermo thought.

“And what if I was?” Berlín challenged, raising his eyebrow.

“You’re truly insufferable, you know that?”, Palermo said, then added. “And as long as I don’t eat the food of the dead, you can’t keep me here.”

“I see Sergio has taught you well, I expected nothing less,” Berlín admitted, offering his arm for him to take. The God of Spring hesitated for a moment, almost refusing the offer just to see how Berlín would react to his refusal, but relented in the end and rested his hand against the soft crimson velvet. The smile he received from the God of Death was still pleased, but more genuine compared to the others he had previously directed towards him.

“Nevertheless, you will have plenty of time to make your decision, and as we know, patience is a rare virtue. Now come along, Palermo. I want to introduce you to someone before I show you _our_ home.”

Patience. That was something even he couldn’t just conjure out of thin air when he needed it, and at this point he was asked to have something he didn’t possess, which was time. He couldn’t stay here in the Underworld. His own domain needed him, his mother needed him. And she was probably turning the whole Olympus upside down in her search of him. Suddenly he felt guilty for leaving Ariadna to face his mother’s wrath on her own. Even he could admit that while she was his spy, the poor naiad didn’t deserve to be the one most likely blamed for his disappearance.

He was pulled away from his musings by Berlín sharply calling out: “Helsinki, Oslo!” The call of their names prompted the two burly men step forward from the disminishing crowd of onlookers. Palermo watched the God of Death shared a look with the one Palermo assumed was Helsinki, a silent battle of wills unraveling between sovereign and subject, before the God of Spring found himself pulled against Berlín’s suit clad side for the second time today. He wanted to put some distance between them to get away from the distracting warmth radiating from Berlín that kept steadily bleeding through Palermo’s thin shirt. He had no such luck. Berlín only held more firmly against him.

“Take care of my horses. I take that Manila is with Cerberus, yes?” Berlín inquired, then began leading him through a large, jagged opening on the opposite wall that Palermo thought to be the entrance to Berlín’s kingdom. The kingdom he hadn't missed the way the God of Death had referred to the domain of death as ours, and not his. The weight Berlin had put on the word ‘ours ’sent shivers down Palermo’s spine.

“This will never be my home,” Palermo said through gritted teeth. Berlín chuckled, oblivious to the biting tone in his voice. “Only time will tell, _cariño_.”

He doesn't have time to start an argument about the topic when Berlin called for his attention once again by taking Palermo by the hand instead of letting it rest on the groove of his elbow. They had stopped at the beginning of wide, spiraling pathway leading up deeper into the cave's depths.

"Watch your step," Berlin warned him, making Palermo squeeze his hand a bit tighter on instinct.

They began their ascend up the marble steps, Palermo walking a few steps in front of the God of Death, who appeared to be more than content to keep him in his direct line of sight rather than out of it. He willed himself not to squirm before the heavy gaze he felt running over him. He couldn't tell if Berlín was admiring him or guarding him in case he fell. Perhaps a bit both.

Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but be positively awed by what he saw. The cave was massive! A high ceiling rising above them and stone walls that glowed in the colors of rich, vibrant amber and sapphire blue with hues of royal purple and blinding emerald green reminding Palermo of his mother's favorite color. All the colors blended together to create an extravagant display of both beauty and wealth. He even found out that the ceiling was covered in shining crystals of various sizes.

 _There's no way a mortal soul is allowed here_ , Palermo thought, his thoughts soon getting an answer when Berlin's claims back his place next to him as they reach an even landing at the top of the pathway. "No mortal has ever passed through here," Berlin explained, Palermo's hand placed back on his arm. "They disembark from the other side, if they paid the Ferryman, that is, but these two pathways do meet in the middle. Come, we’re getting close.”

 _It’s not like I have a choice_ , Palermo wanted to snap at the other god, but let himself be guided up another set of spiraling marble steps before coming to a halt across a pair of double doors many meters high. The doors are pulled open by two guards standing on the either side, who bow before their sovereign. Once opened, only then does Palermo notice that there was an enormous creature taking up a good portion of the space in the relatively spacious hall of black stone.

With a shrill whistle from Berlín, the creature lifted its head, no, heads as the creature turned around to look at them.

Cerberus. The Guardian of the Underworld.

Palermo recognized the beast immediately, though he had only seen sketches of the giant hound in one of Sergio’s many books about the Underworld. Sergio had told him that Cerberus would be gigantic in order to stop any mortal trying to escape from Berlín’s domain, but nothing had prepared him for the six pairs of amber eyes that that were now staring straight into his own blue eyes. His light hold on Berlín’s arm soon turned into a death like grip. his heart jumping into his throat as the magnificent, pitch black hound began approaching them.

Stubbornly, Palermo refused to show fear and back down, which resulted him standing only inches away from the middle head’s panting jaws. During the standoff, the God of Spring felt Berlín’s dark eyes staring at him intently and when he stole a glance at Berlín out of the corner of his eyes, he was almost certain he saw something aching to pride in those bottomless pits.

"Come on, Cerberus! Let the pretty god breath a little! Step back.” A female voice cut across the room. The voice belonged to a petite deity dressed in black leather breastplate, skirt and knee-high sandals. She had short brown hair and wore a mischievous smile on her red painted lips, brown eyes shining with mirth. This must be Manila, Palermo’s brain supplied, a blush invading his cheeks when he realized the deity had just called him ‘pretty’.

Cerberus, hearing her command, let out a whine to signal his displeasure at being denied attention, but stepped back when Berlín gave his guard dog one hard look that left no room for any arguments.

"Forgive me, my lord. He has been antsy all day, but I think he will settle down soon enough,” Manila apologized, her eyes lighting up with interest when she turned to address Palermo. “You must be the one Helsi and Nairobi have been telling everyone about, and by what I just witnessed, I think you will find the Underworld very suitable.” Palermo only had time to nod, because in the next moment Manila’s form slipped through the double doors which closed behind her, indicating her departure from the hall.

A silence fell between them, interrupted only by an occasional whine and a growl coming from Cerberus, until it’s broken by Berlín. “I think he quite likes you,” Berlín observed, as they circled around the yawing hound. Palermo scoffed. “He looks like he would eat me.”

Berlín chuckled. “If you were a mortal soul, he probably would. But do you see the opening just behind Cerberus” He did, though he could barely see the wide opening past Cerberus ’hulking form. Palermo nodded. "All they see when they first set foot in my dominion is the river of fire and the ash falling down on them like snow, only after Cerberus do they truly see the death and the suffering. The deeds they committed in life are the ones that will decide their final destination. Will it be Punishment or eternal peace."

Palermo’s answer gets drown out by another whine from Cerberus, all its three-heads drooping as he stared the God of Spring expectantly. He liked animals and got along well with them, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with a giant hellhound, so he turned look at Berlín for explanation for his dog’s behaviour. Berlín grinned, no doubt at the confusion that was most likely written all over his face, and whistled to call Cerberus to him. With a small gesture, the massive creature flopped down on his belly, the three eager looking heads placed on the ground between his paws.

“He wants you to pet him, since he rarely gets visitors that are not trying to escape. He never let any of my wives come near him like he did with you.”

Palermo had heard of Berlín’s other lovers, his other ‘wives’. Short strips of gossip about every one of them. Palermo knew that he was the first god to be taken by the Lord of the Dead. The other five had all been female, mostly forest nymphs and naiads of the rivers. Berlín had a habit of reaping a large amount of souls for his domain by causing more death in the forms of sickness and disasters of nature after every ‘wife’. Palermo knew this because he often found his mother cursing the other god’s name when the harvest failed because of him. And now that same god was asking him to pet his dog.

Seeing his hesitation, Berlín took a gentle hold of Palermo’s free hand and carefully brought it closer to Cerberus, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Palermo held his breath as three snouts gathered around his outstretched hand, the middle one suddenly pushing itself against his palm with such a force that he almost fell over. The black, silky looking fur felt surprisingly soft against his hand and Palermo had to untangle his other hand from Berlín’s arm to pet two heads simultaneously while the third yapped like an overgrown pup to have a turn.

He kneeled down on the floor to be closer, resulting on two of Cerberus’ heads fighting for the right to place their snouts resting on his lap. The third, tired of being left out, licked the side of Palermo’s head, making him laugh with delight for the first time since his arrival to the Underworld.

Behind Palermo, the God of Death was fighting against the smile threatening to spill across his lips at the sight of Palermo cuddling the fearsome beast. He was enamoured by the scene playing in front of him: this Palermo was the Palermo he had witnessed dancing around a bonfire, his aura shining brighter than a beacon in the darkness. That night Palermo’s scorching warmth had burned through him so effortlessly, reaching into his very being and leaving an everlasting mark behind in the God of Death.

When Palermo was happy, his light, his _heat_ , was comparable to the sun. And Berlín wanted to keep him that way. To have Palermo happy because of him.

“Pet him,” the commanding tone in Palermo’s voice brings the God of Death back to the present. “Hmh?” Berlín hummed, raising one dark eyebrow. Did he hear that right?

“You have to pet the third one, because I’m out of hands!” Palermo replied, annoyed, biting the inside of his lower lip when he noticed he was starting to sound distressed over a dog! When the God of Death didn’t make a move to comply, he removed his hands from Cerberus, earning a collective whine from all of the three heads, and turned around just enough to take Berlín by the wrist, his fingers twisting the velvet material of his sleeve.

“You’re being serious right now?” Berlín asked, amused grin gracing his lips. Palermo rolled his eyes.

“Yes!” He exclaimed, then added. “Now pet the dog.”

Surprisingly Berlín did just that. He crouched down next to him, careful not to crease his suit (of course, Palermo expected nothing more) and scratched Cerberus behind his ear while Palermo’s own hands were busy with the other two, who kept fighting over his attention, the sound of Cerberus ’wagging tail echoing in the hall and successfully drowning out everything else.

To Palermo’s disappointment, they had to depart the hall when a boat-full of deceased mortals are about to arrive and Cerberus was called back to his post by the entrance. Back by Berlín’s side, the God of Spring followed his captor out of the hall, through a final corridor and into the open.

Right after stepping out of the barely lit cave, Palermo’s sense of sight and smell went into overdrive as he was assaulted by the almost overpowering smell of earth after a rainfall, brimstone and something sweet like slowly rotting fruit. He could taste the very essence of death on his tongue and feel the sweltering heat heavy in the air, making him feel dizzy. Berlín seemed to take notice of his discomfort, because soon Palermo felt a cold hand squeezing his own in reassurance, grounding him. “Breathe, son of spring and open your eyes. You will get used to it.” Berlín’s low, even voice told him assuringly. So Palermo breathed in deeply, drawing in the smells around him, then exhaled and carefully opened his eyes.

The first thing he laid his eyes on a moment after opening them again was the heart of the Underworld: Berlín’s seat of power, that loomed over the God of Spring, making him want to shrink into himself just little bit. The fortress with its tall, impenetrable walls build from black brimstone and smoke grey marble standing before Palermo was impressive to say the least. It could only be described as a stronghold fit to hold the most elusive of Marsella’s war councils and this was only the outside portion of it, which also meant that once he was inside, there was no getting out unless he paid attention. The sooner he got back to the surface, the better. He could already imagine the amount of spies his mother was going to assign to watch him upon his return. Yet something in the back of his mind (probably his insatiable curiosity) told him to wait and see what lay in the belly of the beast.

Standing next to Palermo, Berlín took in the reaction of his consort-to-be as the God of Spring gazed upon the impressive structure with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, making the prideful creature in Berlín claw at his insides and demanded him to show what else he had to offer for his chosen bride. _I will give him everything_ , he vowed. Taking the lead once more, the God of Death pulled the mesmerized Palermo with him up the wide stone steps towards the intricately engraved double doors that a pair of guards rushed to pull open when they caught sight of their returning ruler, snapping Palermo’s eyes back to him as well.

He gave the God of Spring a signature grin as the heavy stone doors opened. There was no turning back now.

* * *

If Palermo thought that the outside of Berlín’s stronghold had been an impressive sight to behold, it truly was nothing when compared to what waited him inside. The first thing that drew his attention was the sheer amount of people occupying the large, open space, who were all now at him with various reactions on their faces. The crowd largely dressed in black leather and luxurious velvets and silk in different muted shades parted, bowing their heads as he and Berlín passed them, their criticizing eyes running over him like busy ants. Palermo could even hear some of them whispering about him as he passed, one word in particular caught his ear.

Consort.

They were calling him consort. _Berlín’s_ consort. His breath hitched in his windpipe at the title, his urge to glower at the onlookers to show them his teeth for being put on display in such a way forgotten entirely.

He tried his best to hide it from the many pairs of curios eyes and bring forth his earlier annoyance at being ogled like a piece of fine meat while Berlín didn’t seem to mind all that much. The bastard was practically preening at the attention he received from the onlookers as if he was a hunter showing off his latest catch. He reminded Palermo of a flock of beautiful, but proud peacocks Paris kept in her private gardens at Olympus. He had made friends with them when his mother had taken him to Olympus to see his father, a father who hadn’t realized he slipped away to see the birds.

 _Yes, just like a peacock, he decided then_. Only the colorful tail feathers were missing. All though in his crimson attire, Berlin stood out without any effort, much like he had when they had first met in the meadows with the same overpowering presence. Palermo could even admit that the darkness surrounding the God of Death was both terrifying and exciting. He looked just as powerful as he did when they first met. Just as beautiful. And much more insufferable, he added in his mind.

While lost in his thoughts, the crowd around them had thinned enough for Palermo to fully take in what was considered the heart of the Underworld, and it truly was just that. The great hall Berlín had escorted him to wasn’t just any hall. It was the throne room, the center of it all. Palermo could only stare everything around him in wonder. He hadn’t seen anything quite like it on the surface. The room was as grand as it was imposing. The whole hall followed a simple, yet elegant aesthetic of smooth, skilfully sculpted stone and smokey grey marble with gold accents, though it lacked warmth. It was not homely or bright like the golden halls of Olympus; instead it had an unwelcoming coldness to it as if it was something one should admire and not touch.

Palermo instantly felt out of place. He didn’t belong here. Yet according to his captor this was to be his home.

As they crossed the hall, Palermo could finally crane his head enough to see to the center of the room and the throne that dominated the space. On top of a raised, black onyx dais stood a throne of pitch black stone, carved with elaborate detail from a single chunk of stone. Someone had taken great care to use every available inch to his advantage when making a throne fit for a king, The sides were carved so that they curved upwards and away along the back of it, and on the top there was a gleaming black skull. It mirrored the God of Death and his status rather well, Palermo noted as he passed by it.

Berlín, however, was leading him past the throne and towards one of the staircases on either to, but was stopped abruptly when a voice of a woman called out Berlín by his title, forcing them to pause halfway up the stairs to look who it was.

“My lord, you have returned!” The voice belonged to a goddess currently gliding through the crowd as effortlessly as though her snakeskin boots weren’t touching the charcoal marble floor beneath her feet at all. She was strikingly beautiful, Palermo decided. She was clad in a long dress of dark purple velvet and an elaborate silver headpiece worn weaved through her long raven locks to keep it in place. Once closer, Palermo could spot the myriad of gold rings in her black tipped fingers, complimenting her dark, kohl lined eyes. If Palermo didn’t know better, he would have thought the goddess was the Queen of the Underworld. She surely looked the part.

At her approach, Palermo found that Berlín had brought him back against his side, his strong arm circled around his waist. The God of Spring gave the other deity a glare but didn’t make a move to pull away, he had tried earlier and learned quickly that he would only waste his energy on trying to stop Berlín handling him like an object. He would have his chance once he was alone.

“Nairobi,” Berlín greeted the goddess. “I take that everything went well in my absence? Or did Tokyo try to stage a coup again?”

The goddess, Nairobi, shook her head, her hands on her full hips. “No, she didn’t, unfortunately.” She answered, brushing off Berlín’s first question and raising a questioning eyebrow at the arm securely around Palermo’s waist, clearly unimpressed. Palermo could have sworn he heard her murmur something aching to 'possessive bastard' under her breath.

At that moment, he really couldn’t agree more.

“Palermo, this is Nairobi, the Goddess of Witchcraft and Magic. She’s my most trusted lieutenant.” Berlín introduced the other deity and Palermo could only nod briefly in greeting, not trusting his voice to sound polite enough to not offend the goddess. He had learned of her from Sergio during their lessons since her dominion reached far outside the borders of the Underworld. Nairobi smiled at him warmly, reminding Palermo the way his mother used to do before he had been taken from right underneath her nose.

Palermo noted that Nairobi didn’t pressure him to show proper respect like many of the other deities of Olympus did when he came across them (not including Stockholm) on his brief visits to his father. Most of them were pretentious and easy to offend anyway. Palermo couldn’t even count the times he had gotten into trouble for not giving them the respect they thought they deserved. Respect was a two-way street; you give, you get but since he was a minor, yet important god he was often forgotten because of his lesser status. Nairobi on the other hand, was very different when compared to his extended family, who would already be telling on him to his mother as though he was an unruly child in need of a spanking.

Clicking her tongue, Nairobi’s gaze meet Berlín’s briefly and then returned to him. “Well, Palermo, I’m sure we will have time to get acquainted later should our sovereign let you out of his sight,” Nairobi said, sympathy flashing in her dark brown eyes. Palermo nodded again, there wasn’t really anything else he could at the moment, nor did he want to with so many eyes watching his every move. “Of course I will have to let him out my sight at some point, but that doesn’t mean Helsinki or Oslo will. Are his chambers been prepared?” Berlín asked, speaking as if Palermo wasn’t standing right there next to him!

They left after that, Berlín not bothering to stay and wait for a reply from the Goddess of Witchcraft as he led Palermo up the wide stone steps on to the next floor mostly consisting of open balconies overlooking the throne room and corridors leading deeper into Berlín’s fortress according to the few things he was quick enough to pay attention to before getting his line of sight to the hall blocked by a sharp turn into one of the many corridors along the way.

The long corridor Berlín had chosen to take him along to show him to his chambers was blissfully devoid of any living soul, the silence being a welcome change to the noisy throne room. There were no scurrying underlings or curious eyes looking for flaws. Only him and Berlín and the sound of their footsteps on stone floor. They were completely alone now without any distractions. Without really meaning to, the empty corridor presented him with a choice of either staying quiet and going through memorizing the layout of the path back to the gates or using this opportunity to demand answers he knew Berlín owed him.

Palermo decided he might as well multitask.

He went to pull away from where he still had been pressed against Berlín’s side, only to be caught by surprise when the God of Death actually let go of him and didn’t force him back like Palermo had thought he would. Instead Berlín kept him at arm's length and slowed down his pace. “I can tell you have something on your mind,” Berlín said, breaking the tense silence between them. “What is it Palermo?”

The soft, almost gentle look in Berlín’s onyx like eyes when Palermo turned his head and found the God of Death staring straight at him, all of the previous arrogance ha had back in the throne room nowhere to be found. The look Berlín was giving him now brought forward a memory of their first meeting back in the meadows. He looked like Andrés just then and Palermo didn’t know what to say. A part of Palermo wanted to try and rile Berlín up, to have him do something, anything to give him a reason to think Andrés was only a facade meant to ensnare him and make him pliable when Berlín eventually came to fetch him.

They couldn’t possibly be the same person, could they? He wanted to find out.

“Will you give me an honest answer if I ask you something?” Palermo began, waiting until Berlin nodded and then added. "Why were they calling me 'consort'?"

Berlin didn't answer the question right away, but Palermo could tell he wasn't quite expecting him to have heard the title that had been whispered among the crowd of his subjects. There was a possibility that Berlin wanted to be the one to tell him himself and now someone had ruined his chance to do so, yet Berlin remained silent.

Just as Palermo was about start pressing for an answer he was entitled to, Berlín's hand went to unbutton the crimson velvet suit jacket he wore and pulled out something from golden out of his inner pocket.

He brought it to the light for him to see and Palermo knew instantly what it was. The rose of solid gold he had foolishly picked up from the hole in the ground without knowing it would land him in the Underworld. He reached his hand towards the not quite flower to take it back, but Berlin held it out of his reach. "Remember when we first met? When you kept me company and gave me an orange rose before I left?" Berlin asked, completely ignoring his previous question. Palermo pulled his hand back. "Yes, because your outfit was dull and depressing," Palermo pointed out, rolling his eyes.

Berlín pinned the golden rose on the lapel of his suit jacket, much like Palermo had done long time ago, and gave him a barely-there smirk. "I wasn’t lying earlier when I told you you have seduced me, son of spring, which is why I would like to court you and you accept it, the title of consort my subjects were whispering about will be yours permanently.”

Palermo was speechless. Berlín was asking to _court_ him?! And he had thought nothing could possibly surprise him anymore, not after petting a giant three-headed dog that ate the souls of those who try to escape and then being paraded around as a future candidate for a queen-consort of hell without him knowing about it until now! Berlín was really asking to either be punched or be yelled at.

Instead of doing one or the other, the God of Spring burst out laughing. A laughter that borderlined near hysterical. “Isn’t it a bit too late for that now? It didn’t cross your mind to ask me before bringing me here?” Palermo managed to choke out between breaths of air and new fits of laughter. His stomach had started to hurt.

Now it was Berlín’s turn to look unimpressed by him. “Would you rather have me throwing an apple at you like Denver did with Stockholm? I wanted to start courting you after you seduced me behind that mask yours,” the God of Death responded, his answer causing Palermo’s laughter come to an abrupt halt.

 _His mask_? He wasn’t wearing any mask whe- oh. The realization had his eyes widening. The only occasion he wore a mask was during the festival held in his mother’s honor which ended up with him having to leave early with Ariadna because he had indulged himself with too much drink early on and gotten caught by Lisboa. What Berlín had said would have been okay if it wasn’t for the fact that Palermo didn’t see him that night, but Berlín had seen him.

“How? How could you have seen me with my mother there? I didn’t see you?!” Palermo exclaimed, struggling to get the words out. This couldn’t be happening. The exact number of former suitors who were in it for the chance to have the spring god with a pretty face to satisfy them escaped him that moment. They desires were so similar yet nothing alike when compared to Berlín. He didn’t know what to think.

“You did see me, even if it was for a moment. It was enough for me to decide that I wished to see you again. And I did.” Berlín explained as though there was no simpler thing in the world. His sounded so sure and confident when he spoke of the events that had led him to Palermo that the God of Spring couldn’t help but hear the traitorous voice in his head telling him to just accept Berlín’s courtship and _yes_.

But Palermo wasn’t just anyone, no matter how fast the request for courtship made his heart flutter. He had to go home and Berlín needed to learn he couldn’t just assume Palermo would accept just because Berlín told him he had been seduced by the spring god. He couldn’t just brush away the brewing anger he felt for being kidnapped, and the request to court him after everything wasn’t really helping.

“Me somehow managing to seduce you and you now wanting to court me doesn’t erase the fact that you abducted me from my home without as much of a warning and dragged me to hell like an animal.” Palermo growled, quickly putting distance between him and the God of Death before he did something like punched the oldest of the gods in the face. Tartarus didn’t sound all that tempting to spend the rest of his immortality there.

“You’re asking me to give you up? Well, I refuse. And that is finale.” Berlín bit back stubbornly, catching up to him with a few long strides, successfully backing the God of Spring into a wall and cutting his exit. He had nowhere left to run. The defeat was unavoidable.

With the conversation coming to an end, Berlín buttoned up his suit jacket and offered Palermo his hand to take. “Now come, I will show you to your chambers.” He said shortly, and once again Palermo compiled, though grudgingly, still licking his wounds, and let himself be shown the way to his assigned chambers at the very end of the wing. At the door, Berlín doesn’t let go of his hand but brings his fingers up to his lips for the second time since Palermo’s arrival. The kiss is just as lingering as the first, much to his exasperation.

“I will send for you tomorrow. You will plenty of time to bathe and rest till then.” I _f I can help it, I won’t be staying here for much longer_ , Palermo thought.

"Fine, but don’t you dare expect my decision to just magically change over night. Leave me be." Palermo answered after moment, pulling his hand away from Berlín’s grip and back to his side. He needed to be alone, to have some privacy in order to get his head together. He couldn't think clearly with all his emotions all over the place and with Berlin so close with his aura circling around him. It drew him in towards the God of Death like a moth to a flame, tempting him with warmth and heat hot enough to burn if he let himself venture too close.

“Don’t underestimate me, Palermo. I told you I can be patient when I want to.” Those were Berlín’s parting words to the God of Spring before the other god left him to his own devices in the deserted corridor. Palermo stared daggers into Berlín’s retreating back till his form disappeared from his line of sight when rounding a corner. The corridor was empty for now, but Palermo was more than sure Berlín would send guards to his door sooner or later.

Pushing open the door to his assigned chambers, Palermo decided that if he wanted to go home, he would have to act quickly. Having paid attention to the route they had taken from the throne room all the way to his rooms, he would have to put his trust in the guards and the exact time they would change shifts. Not for long now, not for long.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter @sarahzyaas


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